


The Antisocial Riot Machine

by nepentheosileus



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS
Genre: Antisocial Character, Awkward, Crushes, Flirting, Food truck shenanigans, M/M, NOW A ONESHOT, Reposted Work, hotdogs, texting buddies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-04-01 05:07:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13991106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nepentheosileus/pseuds/nepentheosileus
Summary: There's a man flirting with Yūsaku at Café Nagi and he has no idea how to deal with it.





	The Antisocial Riot Machine

**Author's Note:**

> People keep yelling at me for deleting this story and alas I've decided to repost it as a revised oneshot :')

I.

 

“Is this seat taken?”

 

Yūsaku, although he would never admit it aloud, was startled at the smooth baritone that captured him out of his intense focus on his laptop screen. He glanced up almost warily, never one to show his emotions clearly, and stared blankly at the man that stood before his table with a friendly smile that almost seemed a little too cheery to be genuine. The man gestured to Yūsaku’s table and Yūsaku followed the movement with his eyes, contemplating.

 

Over the man's shoulder Kusanagi could be seen giving an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

 

“No,” Yūsaku replied at last, praying that the man wouldn't be much of a talker. Then again, if he'd chosen to sit with Yūsaku rather than by himself he was likely intent on some sort of conversation. Yūsaku had never excelled at communication. This man was sure to be sorely disappointed.

 

Nevertheless he took the seat opposite of Yūsaku with a sort of casual grace reserved for the rich and beautiful. Not that Yūsaku was calling him beautiful, of course, but he could guess that the man was rather wealthy. After all, Kusanagi only had one customer in this area, and it was the mysterious man that lived in the mansion atop the cliffside. This man had come from the trail leading up to the mansion, so Yūsaku could only assume that this was the lone customer.

 

He wasn't necessarily bad looking though, Yūsaku supposed. His hair was a pristine white with a modest purplish pattern and was arranged neatly, and his body was slim and fair skinned. He seemed to find Yūsaku’s analysis of his appearance to be amusing if his quirked lips were anything to go by. Yūsaku regretfully looked away.

 

They sat in blissful silence for a while, the man eating his purchased food from Kusanagi and the teen getting once more absorbed in his research. He'd been so distracted he almost missed when the man stood to leave.

 

“It was a pleasure,” the man said with a smile, gathering his trash and heading off once he'd thrown it away.

 

Yūsaku watched him go.

 

“It's nice to see you socializing,” commented Kusanagi from the window of his food truck, waving a pair of tongs in his direction.

 

“It's not like we were actually speaking,” Yūsaku pointed out. He reached for his drink and took a long sip, perhaps for something to hide behind while Kusanagi gave him that pleased and almost knowing look.

 

“True,” the food vendor agreed casually, wiggling his brows, “but he was watching you so intently the entire time that I don't think he minded much.”

 

And if Yūsaku blushed, it was not mentioned.

 

* * *

 

 

II.

 

When Kusanagi next decided to visit Stardust Road to set up shop Yūsaku had all but forgotten about the rich customer.

 

The day was warm and breezy, and Kusanagi had stretched out for a while in a lounge chair pushed out in a sunny spot. “It's perfect weather for being lazy,” he'd said, and a few hours later Yūsaku was waking him up from a nap. Luckily the resulting grumbling hadn't lasted very long, as the hotdog vendor had perked up considerably when he realized he had a customer.

 

“Welcome back! What can I get for you?”

 

The man, all sleek white hair and borderline flirtatious smiles, drew his eyes away from Yūsaku and placed his order. Yūsaku for his part had pretended not to notice the man's attention and instead had returned to his work.

 

Just like the time before, after receiving his food the man made his way over to Yūsaku’s table. “May I?” He asked, hardly even waiting for a response before pulling out the extra chair.

 

Kusanagi hurriedly disappeared into the back of the truck when Yūsaku sent his wide grin a withering look.

 

For a while they sat in silence again, Yūsaku deciding to rest his eyes for a bit and peeling them away from his laptop. He'd been spending so much time lately digging up anything he could find on _REVOLVER_ and the Knights of Hanoi that it seemed like he was living and breathing Link Vrains. Maybe a day of relaxing was in store. Pretty soon he'd be seeing data and calculations in the real world as well.

 

“Shouldn't you be in school?”

 

Yūsaku opened his eyes and met the intense gaze of his table companion. The silence had been nice, and while internally mourning it's loss the teenager responded to the question with a dull shrug.

 

The man’s smile widened. “You aren't much of a talker, are you?”

 

“I don't see much point in holding conversations that have no value or interest to me,” Yūsaku replied coolly, drumming his fingers on the table.

 

“Oh?” The man leaned back in his chair. “And I suppose I don't interest you?”

 

Yūsaku raised an eyebrow. “I don't know you.”

 

“And I don't know you,” said the man, “but that's not stopping me, is it?” He stood then, empty takeout bag in hand, and gave a parting wave over his shoulder as he walked away. “It was a pleasure.”

 

The rest of the day was spent dodging Kusanagi's prodding inquiries and Ai’s cooing about “ _Yūsaku-chan_ ” having an “ _admirer_ ”.

 

* * *

 

 

  
III.

 

“So your name is Yūsaku, then?”

 

Said teenager sighed, resisting the strong urge to rub the bridge of his nose. It was the third time now that the stranger had sat with him to eat his meal, no thanks to Kusanagi who had taken the initiative to start visiting Stardust Road more often. Every time Café Nagi set up shop below the cliffside the mystery man would appear, and every time he appeared he had eyes only for Yūsaku.

 

“Yes,” the teen responded simply, pointedly typing away on his laptop. Maybe if he was lucky the man would get the hint and leave him alone.

 

No such luck.

 

“Cute,” he commented, and Yūsaku felt his cheeks warm. He resisted the urge to glare; his pride, or perhaps his lack of outward emotions, allowed him to remain carefully neutral, which he was thankful for. The amusement was rolling off of the man in waves. “Are you close friends with the hotdog man?”

 

“Kusanagi-san,” Yūsaku corrected without thinking.

 

The man hummed in acknowledgement. “Kusanagi-san, then,” he agreed. “Are you close?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“How close?”

 

Yūsaku sighed in irritation. “Close enough.”

 

“You aren’t together then?” Smirking, the man gathered his trash and stood. “Then I suppose that means I have a chance.”

 

Yūsaku blinked, stunned, and watched with wide eyes as the man walked away.

 

“It was a pleasure.”

 

* * *

 

 

IV.

 

“It's raining today,” Kusanagi muses as he opens the window of the food truck one Saturday morning. Yūsaku gives him an unimpressed look. “What?”

 

“I can see that it's raining, Kusanagi-san,” the teen replies with a sigh, dropping himself down in front of the supercomputers. His designated chair feels cold and lonely without his friend sitting beside him in his own chair -- it's rare that they work alone.

 

Kusanagi seems to be having the same thought if the sympathetic smile he sends Yūsaku is anything to go by. He hands Yūsaku a steaming mug of coffee and pats his head affectionately. “I'll go get those tables set up,” he says, looking determined. “I'll have to dig out the umbrellas that can be placed in the center -- wouldn't want to miss out on seeing your special new friend just because of a little rain.”

 

Yūsaku sputters, nearly choking on his coffee, and glares at Kusanagi as the man simply winks and heads into the back of the truck.

 

From his duel disk materializes Ai, all crinkled eyes and waving arms, a gesture that is sure to mean trouble. “Ne, Yūsaku-chan,” he coos, “isn't the rain romantic? Maybe your lover-boy will give you a ki-,”

 

Yūsaku mutes him. Ai crosses his arms and sulks for the remainder of the morning.

 

When the mystery man can be seen making his way down the trail -- not that Yūsaku is watching out for him, because no, he doesn't actually care -- Kusanagi makes a show of grinning all smugly and clicking his tongs as Yūsaku jumps from the truck and takes a seat at his usual table. He glowers at his friend until he waves him off and stops teasing him, and by then the man is standing at the window with an amused expression pulling at his face.

 

He orders, and is that _nervousness_ Yūsaku feels? Certainly not. Yūsaku doesn't get nervous, and certainly he doesn't get nervous because of flirtatious strangers who he's met only three times for a grand total of five minutes each.

 

It must have been the teasing’s fault.

 

“Good afternoon, Yūsaku-kun,” the man greets as he pulls out his chair to sit, and Yūsaku takes a moment to reflect on the fact that the man doesn't even ask to sit with him anymore.

 

“Afternoon,” he responds quietly, suddenly hit with the realization that, while the man knows his name, Yūsaku has no idea by what to address him. He opens his mouth to ask, his brow furrowed, but the man beats him to the punch.

 

“You wear your school uniform even on the weekends?” He asks, taking a bite of his hotdog, and wow, Yūsaku had never actually watched him eat before -- somehow even his bites were graceful.

 

Yūsaku can only nod, hardly remembering the question he was asked, and the man smirks at him as he chews.

 

There is a clamor in the food truck, Kusanagi having laughed so hard he dropped his package of frozen sausages, and Yūsaku is snapped out of his reverie long enough to glare at him. The purple haired man simply waved cheerfully, a wide grin on his lips, before ducking down to collect his fallen foodstuffs.

 

The stranger is chuckling silently when Yūsaku turns back to him, and no, his breath is not stolen away at the sight. “He seems supportive,” he says, and is he--? Yes, he's definitely leaning in. His elbows rest on the table as he cradles his chin in his hands, something in his eyes telling Yūsaku that he's probably the most interesting thing in the world.

 

Clearing his throat, the teen answers back with an embarrassing, “Supportive?” because he honestly can't remember what they were talking about.

 

“Supportive,” the man agrees, his eyes crinkling with his smile, “of my flirting with you.”

 

Yūsaku squints. “So you _are_ flirting with me.”

 

“I'd thought it was obvious.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Well, it's not like I'm trying to _hide_ it-,”

 

“No,” Yūsaku held up a hand, “I meant, why are you flirting with me?”

 

The man paused, a considerate look on his face, and tilted his head to the side. His lips pursed in thought. “A fair question,” he murmured, “but I'm afraid I don't have an answer.” He stood then, Yūsaku suddenly realizing that he'd long since finished his meal. “See, it's not that I don't have an answer to give you, because I'm fairly certain I could come up with one, it's just that -- Well, I'm not entirely sure myself.”

 

Yūsaku frowned at that. He didn't know why he was flirting with him?

 

“I just like you,” the man decided at last, and before he turned to leave he slid a piece of paper from his pocket across the table. “It's been a pleasure as always, Yūsaku-kun.”

 

Later, as Yūsaku was climbing back into the food truck, Kusanagi asked, “What did he give you?”

 

Yūsaku glanced from his friend to Ai, who was still muted but looked significantly more cheery now that there was potential gossip to be passed out. The teen sighed, slumping down in front of the supercomputers and hiding his face in his folded arms. Concerned, Kusanagi followed him and began to rub his shoulders gently.

 

“A phone number,” Yūsaku responded alas, glad his face was hidden as he was positive he would be blushing.

 

Kusanagi shared a grin with Ai, who began to do a silent dance of joy.

 

__

* * *

 

 

V.

 

Kusanagi seems to be under the impression that Yūsaku is texting the mystery man. He’s not, but he doesn’t tell him this, so Kusanagi simply assumes and Yūsaku lets him.

 

Sometimes he thinks about it. He really does. Sometimes he even gets as far as pulling out his phone before cancelling the idea out. Sometimes he considers it with far more thought than he’s comfortable considering with, because some part of him wants to text the man.

 

But then he thinks of romance, of flirtatious smirks and maybe, just maybe falling in love, and something in his gut clenches painfully in -- in _fear_ , perhaps?

 

Romance is something that does not belong in the same category as one Fujiki Yūsaku. Romance is for other people, characters in novels, _normal_ teenagers. Romance is not for Yūsaku, nor is anything that comes with it.

 

Love.

 

What is love? What is it really?

 

Yūsaku thinks about love and he thinks about a time when all he could feel was pain, desperation, and fear. He thinks about happiness, about shared kisses and secretive smiles, and he doesn't picture himself in the mix. Yūsaku thinks about love -- of course he does -- but he does not search for it.

 

The person he loves will only get hurt. The person he loves -- who _PLAYMAKER_ loves -- will only suffer.

 

So Yūsaku cannot love. Yūsaku cannot do romance, cannot go on dates, and he _absolutely cannot love_.

 

But Kusanagi seems entirely too convinced that he _can_ and _has_ fallen in love.

 

Not only is it not that simple, because no one can fall in love after a few brief meetings outside of a food truck, but it isn’t true. Sure, Yūsaku might -- and he uses the word “ _might_ ” very lightly -- like the guy, but the truth remains that he knows nothing about him. Kusanagi doesn’t seem to grasp the idea that he's a complete stranger and could, for all they know, be a Knight of Hanoi.

 

He doesn’t grasp that this man could get hurt by being with Yūsaku.

 

“How’s your boyfriend?” Kusanagi asks at nearly every chance he gets, and Yusaku feels his stomach do a weird little flip, because he’s not his boyfriend, he can’t be his boyfriend, _can’t can’t can’t--_

 

So he says nothing.

 

Ai grins and coos about “ _Yusaku-chan_ ” being “ _shy_ ”, and Yusaku says nothing, because what is there to say? “ _Sorry, Kusanagi-san, Ai, but I’m too broken for a relationship_ ”? So Yusaku says nothing, and no one comments on it.

 

But one night, as he flings himself from his bed and onto the hard floor, sweat causing his night clothes to cling to his skin and the remnants of lightning dancing before his eyes, Yusaku wants nothing more than for someone to hold him, stroke his messy hair, envelope him in their arms and never fucking let go. He craves for sweet lies to be whispered in his ear, false promises of “ _it’s okay_ ” and “ _it’s all over now_ ”.

 

He knows it will never be over, but it would be nice to pretend.

 

Yusaku sits on the floor for a long while, his eyes unfocused as they stare at a far off wall, unseeing. He thinks of a voice--

 

_“Hey, you. Think of three things.”_

 

\--and hurriedly reaches for his phone.

 

In the morning, as sun spills over the horizon and Yusaku rises for school, he sees that he’s sent a message.

 

_To: **Unknown**  
Sent: 3:47 a.m._

_**This is Yusaku.** _

 

And below it, perhaps the part he resents the most, is the reply that had come immediately after, reading;

 

_From: **Unknown**  
Sent: 3:48 a.m._

_**Good morning, Yusaku-kun.** _

 

* * *

 

 

VI.

 

“You're texting him again, aren't you?”

 

Yūsaku spared a glance for Ai, who was sprawled out on his stomach atop the duel disk with what could probably be considered a dreamy expression on his tiny face. The program waved him off when he noticed Yūsaku looking. “No, no, don't worry about little old me! Go back to your boyfriend -- tell him _Ai_ say hello!”

 

Kusanagi chuckled from his chair. He and Yūsaku had seated themselves before the supercomputer hours ago to catch up on some long overdue research. While Yūsaku had the free time to do his own digging throughout the day, Kusanagi had a job to manage and a brother to visit in the hospital, and had therefore been left behind. After catching him up on anything Yūsaku had found, which admittedly wasn't very much, he two had moved on to more important tasks.

 

It hadn't taken very long for Yūsaku to get distracted.

 

“You should probably look at that,” Kusanagi had said after the third vibration of Yūsaku's insistent cellphone; it was programmed to vibrate every five minutes after a text was sent so that Yūsaku wouldn't forget to check it (a result of having Kusanagi as a contact, as missing a single text could potentially be fatal in their line of work).

 

“It's just a nuisance,” Yūsaku had replied, reaching for his phone with the intent to shut it off. His eyes swept quickly over the message and, almost reflexively, his fingers began to type up a response.

 

Kusanagi had rolled his eyes but said nothing, an amused smile on his face.

 

_From: **Unknown**  
Sent: 19:31 p.m._

_**Maybe you should just talk to him. You can't hide behind the hotdog man forever. Make some new friends.** _

 

Now, as another message came through, Yūsaku couldn't help but sigh. He'd made the mistake of mentioning school, recounting the tiring tale of one nameless classmate who was apparently determined to befriend him; unfortunately for him, Yūsaku couldn't even recall his name.

 

Names. They were something too easily forgotten in Yūsaku's book. Names, faces, words -- no matter what, they always escaped him. They weren't important enough to remember.

 

But even despite that, some part of him was yearning to know this man’s name. The contact stood out at him, too prominent, the word Unknown making something in his gut twist.

 

Ai looked at him with concern. “Are you okay, Yūsaku? Don't look so down.”

 

Snapping out of it, Yūsaku sent the AI a withering look. “I'm not down,” he told him, ignoring the string of protests that followed (“ _See if I ever worry about you again!”_ ) and turning his attention back to the phone in his hand.

 

Make some new friends.

 

Yūsaku frowned. He didn't _want_ new friends. He had Kusanagi and Ai, although Ai hardly counted as a friend, and maybe now he had this man too. That was _more_ than enough, surely.

 

_To: **Unknown**  
Sent: 19:38 p.m._

_**Are we friends?**  
_

 

* * *

 

 

  
VII.

 

_From: **Unknown**  
Sent: 19:39 p.m._

_**We could be more than friends.** _

 

Yūsaku doesn't know how to respond, so he doesn't,

 

Days pass. He likes to think he'd forgotten about the man in that time. If asked -- and he was, of course, asked by Kusanagi and Ai quite frequently -- Yūsaku would simply say that there wasn't enough time for things like texting when they had a world to save.

 

The internet was a truly fascinating thing. It provided the greatest of distractions when you really needed them, and by the gods did Yūsaku need them. For days he spent all of his free time (and even some of his school time) buried in his research. He couldn't say he'd achieved much, but that disappointment was enough motivation to keep him going.

 

_From: **Unknown**  
Sent: 7:13 a.m._

_**Good morning. Go to school.** _

 

_From: **Unknown**  
Sent: 20:02 p.m._

_**Good night, Yūsaku-kun.** _

 

_From: **Unknown**  
Sent: 6:57 a.m._

_**Good morning.** _

 

 

The texts never stopped coming.

 

After days of friendly “good morning” messages that felt suspiciously domestic, Yūsaku had resorted to turning his phone off. Kusanagi had scolded him for it, however, and a day later it was back on.

 

_From: **Unknown**  
Sent: 18:41 p.m._

_**I could really go for a hotdog. You should come back to Stardust Road sometime.** _

 

And for some reason that had been Yūsaku's breaking point.

 

He stood abruptly from his laptop, the table rattling loudly and startling Kusanagi who had been dozing off on Yūsaku's bed. “Yūsaku-,” he began, concerned, only to be cut off by the teen locking their gazes and saying, “I need a hotdog.”

 

Once the confusion cleared -- “ _A hotdog? What? Why? Do you have any idea how late it is?_ ” -- and the man had reluctantly cooked and given him what he needed, Yūsaku was out the door and jogging to the nearest train station. He'd always hated the subway, and admittedly he had a bit of trouble trying to navigate it at first, but eventually he was on his way to his destination, paper bag clutched to his chest.

 

When he arrived at Stardust Road, the moonlight rather ominous after so much time spent seeing it in the light of day, Yūsaku pulled out his phone.

 

_To: **Unknown**_  
_Sent: 19:35 p.m._

_**Come down to the usual spot. I have a hotdog**._

 

* * *

 

 

IIX.

 

The night air was cool on Yūsaku's face, burning ice into his skin, and before long he'd lost the feeling in his nose. He dug his free hand deep into his pocket as he waited, the little paper bag containing his prize clasped securely in the other. His palms were clammy despite the chill. He wasn't nervous. Yūsaku didn't get nervous. No, he was only shifting around because of the cold, and certainly not because of nerves.

 

When the man could be seen on the trail in the distance, a blob of white hair bobbing steadily closer, Yūsaku felt his stomach do a flip. The anticipation built up as the man approached, and some part of him wondered just why he'd decided to do this.

 

A hotdog. He’d brought him a _hotdog_. It was late and cold and Yūsaku had brought him a fucking hotdog.

 

Suddenly he felt foolish, embarrassed even, which was a strange sensation as he'd never really felt embarrassed before, of all things. He wished it wasn’t too late to back out.

 

But the man was in front of him now, feet away and slowly getting closer. He looked confused, mildly concerned, and maybe just a bit eager to see Yūsaku standing by the cliff side with a take-out bag at his side.

 

“I didn’t expect you to come so soon,” the man joked after a long moment of awkward silence, the air hanging thick between them. He cleared his throat. “When I said you should come back to Stardust Road, I wasn’t-,”

 

Yūsaku thrusted the bag at the man’s chest, cutting him off. “You wanted a hotdog.”

 

Blinking, the whitette took a moment to just stare at the teen in what was probably disbelief, his eyes wide, before a small smirk pulled at his mouth and he accepted the bag. “Yeah,” he murmured, his expression far too fond as he gazed at Yūsaku. “Thanks.”

 

The teen nodded, stuffing his hand in his pocket. He shuffled a bit, and in his attempt to look at virtually anything besides the man he found his attention drawn to the almost glowing water of the ocean. The stars shone down over the water’s surface, reflecting back and creating something that was almost magical. It was quite the sight, and Yūsaku was immediately captivated.

 

“Stardust Road,” the man acknowledged, nodding to the water. “I almost forget how beautiful it is despite living right above it.” His eyes flicked to his house atop the cliff. “No matter how often you see it, it will always be the most lovely when you have someone to share the view with.”

 

Yūsaku glanced at him briefly. When he looked away, his face was warm; the backdrop of the stars and the ocean, of bright blues and shimmering greens, was simply stunning against the man’s pale features. “I’ve never seen it before,” he said after a long while, fingers twitching in his pockets as the man shifted a bit closer. This felt like the type of scenario that would usually result in hand-holding.

 

Truth be told, Yūsaku wasn’t sure if he was relieved or not that this was currently impossible.

 

“Glad I could be here to see your first time, then,” the man said, and Yūsaku could feel his eyes on his face. It was warm and calming, and his chest fluttered under the scrutiny.

 

Their shoulders brushed.

 

Yūsaku jolted. “Y-yeah,” he breathed, immediately mourning the loss of what was probably his sanity; he’d actually _stuttered_. Gods, he was so glad Kusanagi -- or worse, Ai -- wasn’t here to witness this.

 

The man chuckled, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the rail. Yūsaku watched him openly now, damning subtlety to hell, and watched in fascination as his companion cast his eyes to the sky. “You haven’t asked me my name.” The statement is sudden, blunt even, and it throws Yūsaku for a loop. “Of course, I hadn’t offered it either, but I’d expected you to have asked by now. We’ve been friends for a while now, I’d say.”

 

“Friends,” Yūsaku murmurs, tasting the word on his tongue and quietly delighting in the sensation. “We’re friends.”

 

The man smirked. “For now,” he teased, bumping Yūsaku’s shoulder lightly.

 

His breath most certainly did not hitch. “Yeah,” he found himself agreeing. “For now.”

 

The silence stretches between them for what could have been a small infinity, the only sounds the soft rolling of the waves beneath them. For all the words they never spoke the ocean uttered a thousand. Yūsaku’s feet were numb by the time he found the strength to open his mouth again, and something ignited in his core as he asked, “What is your name?”

 

* * *

 

 

IX.

 

Yūsaku rolled over onto his side and reached for his phone. The little device buzzed in his palm, insistent, and he couldn’t help but smile at the words that flashed across the screen.

 

_From: **Ryōken**  
Sent: 6:49 a.m._

**_Good morning_.**

 

He’d been beaten again, he thought, hurrying to type a reply.

 

_To: **Ryōken**  
Sent: 6:50 a.m._

_**I’ll say it first tomorrow.** _

 

Ever since that night at Stardust Road Yūsaku had been texting the man more and more. Maybe it was that he felt closer to him now that he had a name to put to his face. Maybe it was simply that he couldn’t get the image of him out of his head -- white hair blowing softly in the wind, stark against the deep blues and greens of the ocean behind him, and a teasing little smirk on his face as he gazed fondly at Yūsaku.

 

“ _My name is Ryōken_ ,” he’d said, and finally Yūsaku knew something about him. He wasn’t just a mystery person anymore. He’d suddenly been overwhelmed by the feeling of familiarity, of closeness, and it had left his head spinning.

 

Hell, it was still making his head spin after four days.

 

Ryōken had continued to text him good morning and goodnight, and Yūsaku had taken to responding to him. They’d even made a game out of it -- Yūsaku would try to beat his friend and text good morning first, but Ryōken was ruthless; Yūsaku hadn’t been able to send it before him.

 

_From: **Ryōken**  
Sent: 6:50 a.m._

_**You can try.** _

 

And Yūsaku would.

 

The next morning he set his alarm extra early. Ryōken had never texted good morning before 6:30 -- Yūsaku made sure to rise at 6:15, a smirk spreading across his face as he noted that he had no new messages.

 

_To: **Ryōken**  
Sent: 6:17 a.m._

_**Good morning. I win.** _

 

Ai was waiting for him when he climbed from his bed to head for the bathroom, his little arms crossed over his chest and Roboppy at his side. “Yūsaku seems happy,” he said, and for once he didn’t tease him for it. “Be careful, ne? Don’t let this guy hurt you.”

 

Yūsaku’s eyes narrowed. “What do you know?”

 

“Nothing, nothing!” The AI held up his hands in defense. “I’m just saying, human relationships usually end in pain, right?”

 

“We’re not in a relationship.” Yūsaku grabbed his uniform and made his way to the bathroom. He paused at the door, glancing over his shoulder to where the program stood. “...Thanks.”

 

Ai blinked. “Eh? For what?”

 

“For… For the concern.”

 

Ai beamed at him, his little eyes crinkling from the force. “Always!”

 

That said, Yūsaku entered the bathroom and took his usual morning shower. The hot water helped to wake him up fully, though it did nothing for his motivation to attend school -- as he towelled off he contemplated skipping for the day and hiding out in Kusanagi’s truck. Maybe they could even set up shop at Stardust Road again.

 

When he was dressed and back in his room he hurried over to his phone, checking for Ryōken’s response to his message. A smile bloomed on his face against his will.

 

_From: **Ryōken**  
Sent: 6:19 a.m._

_**How about I reward you with dinner tonight?** _

 

And maybe romance wouldn’t be such a bad thing after all.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title is based off of the song "The Antisocial Riot Machine" by the GazettE


End file.
